


Silk for Steel

by goodnight



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Childhood Friends, Concubinage, Emotional Baggage, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Intrigue, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Pre-Canon, Reversible Couple, Royalty, Switching, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-06-28 13:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnight/pseuds/goodnight
Summary: Alibaba convinced Cassim to kidnap him, but Cassim was the one captured instead.(aka the AU in which a plan gone awry lands Cassim in the palace as Alibaba’s concubine… but Cassim also has other plans.)





	1. Cassim

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I ultimately cut from Dreaming in Sunlight because it didn’t fit the themes and would have cluttered the plot. So, here I am exploring yet another pre-canon royalty AU. This is NOT a continuation or prequel for Dreaming in Sunlight. It’s a COMPLETELY SEPARATE ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. I liked writing a resilient Cassim in DiS, and I wanted to write him fighting for control in an even more harrowing premise. I also have a keen interest in writing a morally questionable Alibaba that I didn’t get to in DiS.
> 
> Warnings to be aware of: Cassim’s manipulation of Alibaba, blood and violence like in canon, occasional dubious romantic/sexual consent, and political deliberations regarding concubinage/slavery in relation to the Magi-universe. Slavery is bad. Concubinage, although an institution that has historically been used by some women to advance in their societies, is also not good. Should you proceed to this fanfic, please keep in mind that the writer does not endorse these practices.
> 
> This story also takes place around the time of Cassim and Alibaba’s first reunion.

Alibaba picked a strange night to return from the dead.

It was one of those nights in which Cassim was ruled by impulse. He had days like that, too, when he had more ideas than he knew what to do with, and he’d try to run with all of them.  _Such a wild child_ , people used to call him, until he assembled a gang of forty thieves who’d come running at the snap of his fingers. He had probably grown wilder since, but now no one judged. Even his soldiers in the Fog Troupe kept silent on the days he had a dagger in his fist and that capricious look on his face.

Tonight, he felt invincible. He had robbed a nobleman at knifepoint, on a whim, and the man had all but hurled his jewelry on the ground in fright. He tripped over himself twice to escape Cassim, who laughed and sheathed his dagger. When he picked up the gold and gems, they glittered in the torchlight, and he put them on. He was on his way to Zainab’s because she owned a fragment of a mirror, and he had half a mind to keep them, whether or not they suited him, when he saw the ghost.

Alibaba. Under the moonlight, fair-haired and robed in green, with eyes like stars.

Cassim’s throat went dry, but he felt no fear. Tonight was not a night to feel fear. It wasn’t like one of those fog-draped evenings when he found himself suffocating in an alley with the ghost of his father, who still bled and cursed him in death. No, it was like a strike of inspiration—and the promise of good fortune—when Alibaba lit up at the sight of Cassim. Those golden eyes. They shined brighter than the necklace around Cassim’s neck, and Cassim couldn’t help but smile back. Here was the past and the future staring right back at him, on a night when Cassim had lost himself to the present.

“Hey!” Cassim said, laughing, “Hey, Alibaba! It’s been too long!”

Cassim gave his shoulders a squeeze to confirm, and Alibaba squeaked, “Cassim!” He was warm and solid to the touch. Real. 

“What the hell, man, where were you all this time?”

“I was in the palace, but I got away,” Alibaba said, squinting in the dark. “Is it really you, Cassim?”

Cassim grinned and leaned close, close enough to smell the perfume on Alibaba’s fine clothes. “Why don’t you come with me and find out for yourself?”

-

Every stare turned to Cassim when he entered the Fog Troupe's favorite tavern, then shifted to the well-dressed prince behind him. Cassim saw their greed and raised his brows in warning,  _not yet._

With a wave of his hand, he cleared a table of three hulking men and their dinners. Alibaba stared in awe as they wiped everything down before Cassim and pulled out the chairs. Drinks came in ten seconds flat, and then it was just Alibaba and Cassim over two tankards of beer.

“To our reunion,” Cassim said cheerfully, and he lifted his drink.

“T-to our reunion,” Alibaba mumbled back, somewhat intimidated by his own.

“What’s the matter? Don’t they let princes drink in the palace?” Cassim feigned shock. Alibaba turned red.

“I can drink!”

It only took a little teasing to rile Alibaba’s indignation into bravado, and soon they were two rounds in. Alibaba was, at least. Cassim’s father was a drunk, and Cassim decided he wouldn’t be. It was as simple as that, the decision, and it’s saved his life a few more times than he could recount.

“You…” Alibaba pushed his empty mug forward, and Cassim refilled it. “You, uh, seem to be doing well.”

Cassim took in the sight of Balbadd’s Third Prince—face flushed and grinning like an idiot—and he smiled back. “What, the jewelry? They’re new. You like ‘em?” He ran his fingers down the segments of gold against his chest. Alibaba followed his movements with his mouth agape.

“It’s—well, you… You grew your hair out, too.” Alibaba looked shyly back into his cup. “It's nice like that.”

The compliment took Cassim by surprise, but it was sweet. Almost disarming. Cassim let himself accept it and rested his chin on his hands. “I stopped cutting it after you left,” he said, just to be cruel.

Alibaba’s eyes widened before they softened. Regret, guilt, shame. Whichever it was, it had Alibaba looking like he did on the day Cassim had smiled and told him to go to the palace. “Cassim, why didn’t you stop me that day?” he asked. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t want me to go…”

Cassim considered his resentment, then reworded it, “I thought you’d fight me, if I told you how I really felt back then.”

“I would’ve.” Alibaba laughed, blinking back drunk tears. “I would’ve knocked you out, but maybe I would’ve stayed with you.”

“Maybe.” Cassim doubted it, but he remained pleasant. “I thought if we parted on a good note, you’d come back for Mariam and me.”

Alibaba gave him a blank stare. His shoulders went slack. Cassim could see that the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind once. It was an expression of revelation on Alibaba’s face that Cassim had once thought cute, back when Alibaba learned why hermit crabs moved into new shells, or when he found out what his mother did for a living. But now it was the face of a fool, ignorant and blind to the struggles of the lower class he miraculously escaped.

Yes, Alibaba had left them for dead in the slums. Cassim's suspicions weren't groundless, and now they're confirmed. He could have his revenge right here tonight. With a snap, he could set the Fog Troupe on Alibaba: knives slicing through rich brocade, smooth silk, and spilling royal blood onto the rotting hardwood. Then, maybe in his dying moments, Alibaba would feel as abandoned as Cassim had for two years.

“Where is Mariam?” asked Alibaba.

“Mariam,” replied Cassim, blinking. There was an air of emptiness between them, cold and stark and uncomfortably revealing. “She’s doing good. Getting into trouble. Can’t keep my eye off her,” he lied and laughed. It was awkward, but Alibaba seemed to believe him.

“She takes after you,” he said with immense affection, and for another second, Cassim was almost disarmed of his anger. There was just such warmth in his eyes that Cassim could  _believe_  Alibaba cared. Cassim was sure he did, in the moment at least, as they gazed at each other across the table in the dimming candlelight. But once Alibaba was back in his palace and Cassim in his warren, Alibaba would forget him again, and that warmth would be gone.

“I missed this,” said Cassim, his heart still tight. He would make sure Alibaba didn’t forget this time.

-

Cassim glanced down at the three coins in his hand and then to the man eyeing them from the shadows behind the tavern.  _Leave,_  Cassim told him with a shake of his head,  _plans have changed_ , and then the man from the Fog Troupe was gone.

Cassim thought that he and Alibaba would part outside the tavern, but Alibaba clung to him as they stumbled down the steps. Maybe Cassim had been too generous with his refills. Maybe Alibaba had been too eager to prove him wrong. Like so many of their childhood escapades, it wouldn’t have been incorrect to say they were both at fault.

Cassim laughed and turned to the prince against his shoulder. “Why are you following me? Too drunk to find your way home?”

“No…” Alibaba had the nerve to look indignant while holding onto Cassim for balance. “I just wanted to see where you lived.”

Cassim pocketed his hands with a sigh. Their pace had slowed down to an amble, with Alibaba resting his cheek against Cassim’s shoulder. “Well, it’s no palace,” Cassim said. “It’s nothing compared to where you’ve been these past couple of years.”

“I’d like that,” said Alibaba, wistful, with a hiccup. “It’s big and lonely back there. I thought about you and Mariam every day. I wanted to come home so bad, but when I came to find it tonight, it was gone…”

So, Alibaba had thought of them. He was always the sentimental one, it’s true, but Cassim didn’t believe for a second that even Alibaba would trade the comforts of a palace for the tent of two street urchins.

“Our home was…” Cassim paused and, for a moment, smelled the Illness and ash beneath his nose. “It was renovated. Sure, the neighborhood's gone, but everyone's moved on to better places.”

He still had that old habit of protecting Alibaba, sparing him the reality of what happened after he left. Cassim told himself this time wasn’t out of kindness. Cassim had plans, and Alibaba had to be kept in the dark for them to come to fruition.

“You, too, right? You moved somewhere nice?” Alibaba gazed up at him with dewy, drowsy eyes. “I wanna see your place. I wanna stay there with you.”

Cassim snorted. “Won’t they miss you in the palace?”

“Kidnap me.”

Cassim looked down at Alibaba, who had a drunk sort of determination on his face. They stopped walking. The sea breeze was cool against Cassim’s skin, and he could hear waves softly in the distance. Yes, Cassim could run off with him. They could stow away on a boat destined somewhere far and lovely, where nobody knew which of them was the prince and which was the pauper. It could be like back when they were kids, except they were older and wiser now, in completely different ways. And there would be no Mariam.

Cassim swallowed, and he shook his head. “No, thanks. I’d get caught and executed.”

“Then… you guys come live in the palace with me.”

What a cruel thing to say.

Cassim could have thrown him to the ground, then and there. He could have pulled his knife. He could have carved his hate into Alibaba’s face and ended everything between them because Alibaba was too late. He was too late with his invitation, too late with his generosity, and too late for everything Cassim had held dear.

“I wish you had said that earlier,” Cassim said instead, with a laugh. “Way earlier.”

“I’m making up for it now,” said Alibaba, grinning. “I’m always alone these days. You could pretend to be a servant or a nobleman when we’re together, and you could stay in my chambers when I have classes.”

“You want me to hide under your bed like some sort of pet?” Cassim was smiling, but his skin crawled at the thought. Alibaba seemed to finally catch on. He shook his head, alarmed.

“No, no! You don’t have to stay the whole time!” he babbled. “You could come and go as you wanted. You and Mariam both!”

“And how would I come and go?”

Alibaba grinned deviously. He rose up to his tiptoes and motioned for Cassim to lean in. When Cassim lent him his ear, Alibaba whispered, “When we were little, I used to be the King of Tunnels, remember?”

“I seem to remember you were a brat,” Cassim replied thoughtfully, and Alibaba laughed. He took Cassim’s hand and pulled him along toward the palace. Under the moonlight, the structure gleamed like mother of pearl. Cassim had dreamt of this moment for as long as he could remember. That Alibaba’s hand was in his own, a bittersweet reward for getting this far.

-

“Sorry it’s cold,” said Alibaba as they exited the dark tunnel Alibaba somehow carved in two years. The boy was a wonder. “It gets so cold in the palace. We can warm up in the hot baths.”

Cassim had never had a hot bath in his life, but there it was: an entire pool of jasmine-scented water, steaming, complete with fountains and illuminated by granite torches.

“Usually, we scrub off any dirt over here before we go in,” said Alibaba as they undressed.

“Yeah, fuck that,” said Cassim, tossing his clothes aside as he made his way over to the steps in the pool. Alibaba followed with a wry grin, watching Cassim gingerly wade deeper into the water. Cassim dove under the surface, in a flurry of white petals, where the water was so clear he could see Alibaba’s toes. When he came back up, Alibaba was already sitting nearby, neck-deep in the bath.

“Usually, we take off all our jewelry, too,” he teased lazily. Cassim looked down and saw the nobleman’s gold bands still on his fingers and wrists. Everything about tonight felt like a dream that he had forgotten he had them. He shrugged and swept a wave of water at Alibaba, who yelped and ducked too late.

“Stop staring at me,” laughed Cassim, and Alibaba snorted, turning away. But he kept sneaking glances back while Cassim washed his hair.

“You look so different now,” said Alibaba, his face red and his expression daydreamy. “I didn’t recognize you at all. But you’re really the same Cassim I grew up with, huh?”

“I am,” said Cassim, stealing a ribbon from Alibaba’s pile of clothes. He pinned his hair up and decided not to worry about the flowers caught in it. “What’s something only your Cassim would know of Alibaba?”

“Hmm!” Alibaba splashed at the petals drifting around him. “What was my mother’s name, and how many times did you ask her to marry you?”

Cassim froze, mortified, and that alone was probably enough to confirm his identity, but Alibaba grinned at him expectantly, and Cassim gritted out, “Her name was Anise… I asked her to marry me three times.” Alibaba cackled in glee at the memory. “And I was four,” Cassim reminded him.

“The first time, yes, but the other two?”

“…Eight,” Cassim answered grudgingly. “And ten. She told me to think of her as my own mother after that…”

Alibaba wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re Cassim, all right.”

-

They were still about the same height and size, although Alibaba had caught up a little since they last saw each other. It made sense that Alibaba's silk clothes fit him, but it made more sense back when what belonged to Cassim also belonged to Alibaba and vice versa. Now, Cassim felt out of place in Alibaba’s perfectly white shirt, in Alibaba’s warm bed that was big enough for both of them and more.

Alibaba nuzzled cozily under Cassim’s chin, his arms tight around Cassim’s waist. “I wanted this so bad,” he sniffed. “Missed you and Mariam so much.”

“There, there,” Cassim said, awkwardly, petting Alibaba’s hair. God, but he felt torn. On one hand, this was what Cassim had wanted, deep down, but on the other hand, Cassim was stubborn. It was far too late. They had grown up. Mariam was gone, and Cassim had been through too much to be satisfied with just this. It was unfair to expect that he could.

And it was unfair that Alibaba got to keep both his life  _and_  his innocence.

“Cassim…?”

Cassim shifted them so that he was on top. Alibaba gazed up at him curiously, and Cassim almost lost his nerve. He almost changed his mind because this was  _Alibaba_. Even if he almost hadn’t recognized Cassim, Cassim could spot Alibaba in the thickest of crowds, in the darkest of nights.

But seeing him again in person, as a prince, only sealed the wall between their differences. They could no longer be brothers. They never were. They came from different families, no matter what Anise had said, and Alibaba was born to better people. He was destined for higher stations. Cassim could try to drag him down, but Alibaba would always be better. Nothing could tarnish pure gold.

So, what did it matter if Cassim tried anyway?

“Do you remember,” he murmured, stroking his thumb across Alibaba’s cheek, “what Anise used to do with those men?”

Alibaba reddened, but he held his gaze. “Mom… she used to wrestle them. She always won.”

“You know better than that,” said Cassim, pulling the covers over them, and he kissed Alibaba in the dark.

It was a surprise when he felt Alibaba’s hands slip around him, when Alibaba’s fingers dug into Cassim’s shoulders.

In hindsight, it wouldn't have been, had Cassim read Alibaba's language for what it was that night. Like a caravel through open water, Alibaba had a penchant for slicing through Cassim's pretenses with his earnestness. Alibaba kissed back hungrily, as if it were a competition; Cassim had to fight his own stupid urge to rise to the challenge, whatever it was. It must have been one of Alibaba’s first kisses, if not his very first because it left him gasping. Poor idiot forgot to breathe.

And although Cassim has had many kisses before, this one left him a little breathless, too. 

-

Cassim woke before dawn, with the entirety of Alibaba’s weight strewn carelessly on top of him.

Cassim pushed him off and recovered his clothes. While he tied the cloth straps over his shoes, Alibaba’s warm arms encircled his neck from behind. “Are you going back to the city?” Alibaba mumbled into his hair. His voice crackled with sleep. “Don’t go…”

“I’ll get caught if I stay.” Cassim unclasped Alibaba’s hands, but they quickly buried themselves into Cassim’s locks. So, Alibaba was the clingy after-morning type. Cassim should have known when he met Drunk Alibaba. He sighed, “I’ll come back tonight.”

“Tonight, then,” said Alibaba, relinquishing his grip. He gave Cassim a grin that looked extra mischievous when matched with the purple marks Cassim left on his collarbone. “Tonight, I’ll let you win.”

Cassim laughed and pinched Alibaba’s cheek. 

He tried to forget about his blond prince as he went about with his day, but he found flower petals in his hair and smelled jasmine whenever he turned his head.

That little bastard. Inevitably, as he had for two years, Alibaba would not leave Cassim’s mind.

-

It went on like that for a month, with Cassim sneaking into the palace long past sunset and then into Alibaba’s bedchambers until a few hours before dawn.

In many ways, it was a paradise. Cassim would wash away the dirt and stress of the day and enter a world of silk and softness by moonlight. Cassim could set aside his bitterness and envy because what was Alibaba’s was now his. Alibaba was his, too, as he eagerly proved night after night. Cassim got used to their strange sort of intimacy, and Alibaba got better at it. They would fall asleep, comfortably curled around each other. Cassim liked it more than he’d admit. It was nostalgic, yet new.

Alibaba always wanted to be close. He would know when Cassim tried to slip out of bed and hold him tighter. It reminded Cassim of the tale Anise used to tell them about a king who swore to behead his unfaithful lover at dawn, but she told stories to lull him to sleep, enabling her escape.

(“I wouldn’t care how many men she slept with,” Cassim said stubbornly when he was small, precocious child he was, and Anise had smiled and kissed his forehead.)

Alibaba squeezed Cassim's wrist one morning and said again, "Kidnap me?”

Cassim smiled and kissed his forehead.

He went back into the city alone.

The sun had thrown its rays across the ocean, and the sky was a beautiful pink. The gulls were already hanging above like kites over the fishermen's wharves. Cassim breathed in the salty sea air and stretched his arms as high as they would go. He went straight to a small hovel, where the Fog Troupe’s forty squeezed together in wait for him. There was a sheet of parchment flat on the floor.

Cassim took the twig of charcoal Hassan offered. He drew a map of Balbadd’s royal palace, which he had spent a month exploring and memorizing.

He circled a great room near the center and said, “That’s the treasury. The guards move on a schedule as steadfast as the tides.” He struck lines connecting it to Alibaba’s tunnel and said, “We go in and out through here. Grab as much as you can, but don’t worry if you can’t get all of it.”

“And why is that?” asked Zainab, who knew Cassim was nothing if not thorough.

“For the rest,” Cassim smirked as he lit a cigar, “we’ll kidnap a prince and hold him ransom.”

-

The Fog Troupe lit three fires in the palace, each a distraction far away from the treasury, dividing the guard force into fourths.

Cassim went to Alibaba’s chambers by himself. He pulled the prince out of bed, and dragged him down the hall.

“Cassim?” Alibaba regained his senses at the smell of smoke and yanked his arm free.  _“Fire?_  Cassim, what’s going on? Who are all these people?”

“You asked me to kidnap you. I figured, while we were at it, we’d help ourselves to what was rightfully ours,” Cassim said as his men ran back and forth between the vaults like ants, their arms laden with gold. “After all,” Cassim raised his voice, “are these not the taxes we paid for with our blood, sweat, and tears?!”

A chorus of cheers arose in return.

Cassim smiled and pinched Alibaba’s cheek. “Thanks, partner. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Alibaba’s eyes reflected the flickering flames around them, like precious baubles. “No, this isn’t what I wanted!" he cried in horror, “You can’t do this! The king, my father—he’s  _ill_. If he finds out what’s happening, he’ll… He might not make it!”

“Good riddance to the man who threw away your mother,” Cassim scoffed. “You said so yourself last night.”

Alibaba paled. “I was wrong... My father  _can’t_  die right now. My brother  _Ahbmad_ —he can’t be the next king. Father said as much when he asked me to take over—"

“Over...?" Cassim scowled. Alibaba had told Cassim so many things in the past month. Under their cozy little haven beneath the covers, Cassim held Alibaba safe while the prince cried over the cruelty of his oldest brother, over the coldness of his father-king. But Alibaba hadn’t said anything about the royal inheritance. “The  _kingdom?_  When did he tell you this?”

“T-today,” said Alibaba, realizing the importance of what he was saying. He just didn’t know the priority. “He said he  _loved_  my mother after all. And he didn't want my brothers to rule, not when Ahbmad obeys the Kou Empire. Father wanted  _me_  to be king, but I told him I  _couldn’t_. I said I’d help my brothers. Don't look at me like that—I mean, I grew up as a child of the  _slums_ , so it’s not as if I could truly be…”

“Stop babbling!” Cassim scolded as Alibaba stared at him helplessly. “You just said so yourself that your brothers shouldn't be king, so it  _must_  be you! You have to stay—no.  _Wait.”_  Cassim paused and thought about it. “No,  _no_. You must be valuable to the king if you’re the only alternative to your brothers…” 

A blaze of fire erupted around them, and Zainab’s voice rang out, “Cassim, guards! We have to go!”

Cassim turned back to Alibaba, teeth clenched. He could go now, whether Alibaba followed or not, and make a clean getaway. But if he could make Alibaba come with him, then the reward would be greater. The ransom must be worth at least triple what Cassim originally thought, but only if the king willed it. And who would be on the throne when the fires died down anyway? Cassim struggled between his self-preservation and greed, but in the end, his ambition won. If Cassim had the precious Third Prince, then the fate of Balbadd might as well be his to control. He turned to Alibaba, “Come with me!”

They clasped hands and hurtled through a wall of flames.

Back to the side hall. Back to the tunnel. Alibaba’s grip was so painfully tight that Cassim's fingers ached when they stopped. A line of soldiers blocked their path. Before them were Zainab and Hassan, bound at spear point.

Cassim saw a flash of metal, and ten spearheads found a circle around his neck.

“Release the prince.”

“Tch.” Cassim let go of Alibaba’s hand, and a human fortress cut between them. It was the soldier who taught Alibaba everything he knew of swordsmanship. Even in his earliest days of raising hell, Cassim had known to steer clear of General Barkak. The man nudged Alibaba behind himself and leveled his blade right below Cassim’s chin.

“Is it safe to approach, General?”

Barkak’s gaze shifted slightly and he acknowledged the new presence, “Yes, your Highness. We got him.”

The sound of First Prince Ahbmad’s slippers echoed in the chamber. Then his voice, “So, you finally caught the leader of the Fog Troupe.” The oldest prince walked into view, with Second Prince Sahbmad shuffling timidly behind him. They assessed Cassim, and Abhmad said, “It's this one? The smallest out of the three?”

Cassim smiled sardonically. “Still a head taller than Prince Ahbmad.”

Ahbmad was displeased: “Then, we'll just have to cut off your head!”

“No!” Alibaba shrieked, pushing past Barkak. “Guards, lower your weapons!”

“Scum—! How dare you?!” Ahbmad grabbed a fistful of Alibaba’s hair and threw him to the ground. “Never speak over me again!”

“Y-yes…” Alibaba lay curled against the stone, clutching his head. He looked up tearfully, caught Cassim’s grimace of disdain, and ducked his head down once more. Cassim clicked his tongue, disappointed. The truth was plain as the stone beneath their feet: the First Prince outranked the Third Prince, and so Alibaba couldn’t deny him without bloodshed. Cassim was on his own.

Or rather, Cassim had to look out for his own.

“Spare my followers,” he said levelly, lowering himself to his knees. The spears followed. “They’re useless without a leader. They can’t even read, much less continue the Fog Troupe. Spare them and punish me instead.”

Alibaba swallowed uncertainly. And that was fair. The last time he saw Cassim with such a calm expression was,  _well_ , the entire month Cassim plotted to rob the treasury.

“You’re trash from the slums. You’re in no position to make demands,” Ahbmad sneered. “Take the others away to the prison. We’ll execute them at my leisure.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“And you, foolhardy little rat.” Abhmad turned to Cassim. His face split into a grin that made Cassim’s spine turn to ice. He’s only ever seen it on men who were about to do something cruel, terrible, and violent.  “You will become my personal slave.”

Cassim’s limbs grew numb and his vision blurred. Then, he saw Zainab, and her face was a mask of wrath. Hassan was right beside her, and the man was ready for a second battle. Cassim took a hold of his nerves and stared them down fiercely. He commanded with his eyes,  _go, survive, I’ll come for you later._

They left, struggling.

Ahbmad smirked at him; a tiny, craven man with an even smaller pile of accomplishments to his name. Cassim could throw up his heart in disgust. Now, truly alone and surrounded by enemies, he weighed his options against his pride. It was better to heed his own advice,  _to survive,_ but life was unfair. It was unfair of fate to make Ahbmad Cassim’s greatest adversary, and Cassim would rather  _die_  than call Ahbmad master.

"What are you saying, Ahbmad?" Alibaba had gathered his courage once more to stand back up. He stepped firmly between Cassim and Ahbmad. "There is no slavery in Balbadd.”

“Silence. I’m Prince Regent,” Ahbmad snarled back.

“And Father is not dead! He would never allow it! When I tell him about this level of cruelty you’ve reached—”

“Then, we’ll just execute the intruder instead,” said Ahbmad irately, and as an afterthought, “if you think that’s  _less_  cruel.”

"It... no... It's not." Alibaba's confidence wavered, and Cassim rolled his eyes.

“At least  _try_  to maintain your posture if you’re going to pretend to have a spine," Cassim muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "You have my life in your hands.”

Alibaba knew that much, Cassim could tell. The blond had that look of determination on his face once more. It was sober now, but it was the same as the one that had gotten Cassim into this mess a month earlier, when Alibaba told Cassim to kidnap him. Alibaba’s cheeks flushed red, and he turned back to Ahbmad fiercely.

“You can’t have him, Ahbmad,” he said. “Cassim has given me his life, therefore his hand to me. He’s mine. It’s law.”

There was a long silence as everyone in the room tried to make sense of Alibaba’s words. Finally, Sahbmad whispered, “A-Alibaba... by law, do you mean that old tradition our kings have ignored for generations? You are invoking that very antiquated law of…"

“Of marriage. You know the law, too, Ahbmad. Cassim is mine. We’ve…” Alibaba hesitated, red. “We’ve consummated it.”

"Oh, by the seven seas..." Sahbmad was sweating so much that he looked ill.

But Cassim still didn’t understand.

“Balbadd’s prince cannot legally marry someone of such low status!” Ahbmad pointed an accusatory finger at Alibaba. “That is why Father sent your whore of a mother away. She would have been nothing more than a concubine!”

Alibaba’s hands shook with rage, but Cassim saw pure red _._  It was as if he had been forced into freezing waters, and he couldn't breathe. He wanted to fight. _Concubine_. He had only heard the word in stories about barbaric lands across the desert and seas, where kings and princes and lords preyed upon the women who had no choice but to serve them. To have it used to describe him…  _No_. It wasn't a mere description. Cassim was being forced into it.

“A  _concubine?!”_  he roared, lunging at Alibaba. The guards pressed him back with their spears. “I told you I would not be some pet chained to your bed! I am not your sex slave!”

Alibaba ignored him, standing clear of his fists. “You still want him, Brother Ahbmad? That’s all he’s good for!”

“ _Bastard!”_  Cassim’s heart raced. The back of his mind was a scramble of panic. Whatever plans he had over the past month was a goddamned illusion, just like the Alibaba he  _thought_  he knew. No, Third Prince Alibaba was something else entirely. Every night, he saw Cassim as nothing more than a bedwarmer. “How  _dare_  you do this to me?!”

And it hurt so much more because Cassim had been arrogant enough think Alibaba loved him.  _Poor idiot,_  he thought of himself.

“It doesn’t matter what the Third Prince’s preferences are,” Alibaba continued. “I’m just trash from the slums, right? But if word got out that the First Prince allowed  _slavery_  in Balbadd just to get his hands on a concubine, what would—”

Cassim managed to get one good punch in, and Alibaba was down again. “Just execute me!”

“Don’t say that!” Alibaba scrambled to his feet and struck him back—a slap across the face. "J-just stay quiet!" Cassim stared at him in shock, his cheek stinging. And then, he could no longer bear to look at Alibaba.

“Bastard,” he said again.

There was a silence. Then, Alibaba said, “The third prince lays first claim to Cassim’s life, by the law of the ancient kings. Will the first prince challenge me in a duel for him?”

Ahbmad seemed deeply uncomfortable, and he whirled around with a haughty sniff. “How uncouth. Trash mixes with trash, I suppose. Well..." Something about his tone seemed odd to Cassim. He recognized the anticipation, one belonging to a fisherman who spotted a shoal of fish shimmering in the water, and it was worrying in Ahbmad's voice. "This has been quite the show so far. I think I’ll allow it after all. Kou, Reim… The other great countries of the world allow some form of slavery, don’t they? There’s no reason we should fall behind...”

Sahbmad’s eyes widened in alarm. The guards around them shifted uneasily, as if comprehending the magnitude of what this meant for Balbadd’s future, if not exactly what it meant in and of itself.

“Brother, what are you thinking? Father would never—” Sahbmad began, but Ahbmad stared him into silence. Sahbmad looked back to Alibaba, pleadingly. Alibaba avoided him.

“Father this, Father that! You two are so afraid of Father,” Ahbmad said. “He’ll probably croak the moment he learns what his precious third son has done, and then I’m next on the throne. You should be fearing  _me!”_

Both Alibaba and Sahbmad remained silent, and that seemed to suit Ahbmad fine. He walked by and cast a wicked grin to Cassim. “Oh, and if we’re lucky, Alibaba will be the first prince killed by his own concubine in the entirety of our great country’s history.” He left with a chuckle. Sahbmad shuffled after him with his head bowed in submission. Or shame. Maybe it was both. He didn’t spare a glance back to Alibaba or Cassim.

When the two older princes were gone, Alibaba breathed out a sigh. His shoulders sagged.

But Cassim was tense like a rope against the weight of an anchor. He fought tooth and nail as the soldiers tied his wrists together, and he hurled insults at Alibaba until the prince turned away, toward the direction in which his two real brothers disappeared.

“He wouldn’t kill me,” said Alibaba softly. And when Cassim glared at him with nothing short of murder in his eyes, Alibaba met them with his own golden gaze and said, “Take him to my chambers.” 


	2. Alibaba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassim takes the lead, and everyone follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite sure how many chapters this will be. Probably around five, if past experience is any indicator!

The palace was different from the world of the slums. It was big and empty, insulated with cold stone from distant quarries and the echoes of footsteps. Within a month of his arrival, Alibaba began to feel like a sleepy silkworm in a cocoon.

But then, Cassim slid back into his life like a knife in its sheath. He reawakened old instincts that Alibaba’s tutors had sought to smother.

“You are a prince,” they would say, but Alibaba knew he was a slum brat. And it was okay, because Cassim was one, too. It hadn’t mattered then, and it was a lie to say it mattered now. Especially when Cassim was back.

Everything sounded clearer in Cassim’s voice. Everything tasted sharper with his smoke. Cassim returned the spark that made life vibrant and _real_. Alibaba had never forgotten him, no, but how in the world had he forgotten his _presence_?

Cassim was like a storm at sea: dark and roiling, endlessly magnificent. Alibaba remembered the pang of inadequacy he once felt standing next to him with the other children. Cassim was always different. Cassim could lead _armies_ , if he wanted to, and Alibaba would have happily followed him to the ends of the world.

That was _then_ , but Alibaba couldn’t see himself refusing Cassim _now_ either. He carried himself with the confidence of a man twice their height and thrice their age. Alibaba envied that. It was a miracle they had found each other a second time in this life. Alibaba counted his blessings, and for the privilege of waking with Cassim nestled next to him every morning, Alibaba would’ve given anything for it to continue.

 _Anything_ , including Cassim’s freedom.

“Bastard.”

And that’s where they stood, on opposite sides of Alibaba’s room. Cassim glared, his eyes dark as a moonless sky. He had swung furiously at Alibaba and almost gotten himself killed in the process, but Alibaba had screamed at the soldiers to stand down. Alibaba knew Cassim could slit his throat the moment he lowered his guard, but he wanted to believe that Cassim wouldn’t. He wanted to pull the covers over them both and sleep this terrible night off, like they used to back when he, Cassim, and Mariam shared a bed.

Cassim wasn’t amenable to that solution, and so Alibaba returned his stare, miserably and said, “I’m sorry…”

“ _Bastard_ ,” Cassim repeated, and every syllable struck as hard as a cobra bite. “It’s not enough that you’ve trapped me here—you had to _humiliate_ me, too?” Cassim turned away, disgusted. “That’s all I was to you… a prince’s _concubine._ God, I hate you.”

“No, it's... Look, I did what I had to,” said Alibaba. “I couldn’t let you die!”

Cassim snorted, unimpressed, and gestured about to the lush chamber with his bound hands. “And _this_ is better?”

“Of course, it is,” said Alibaba, crossing the room at last. “Your comrades are locked in the dungeons below the palace, where it’s cold and damp and dark. This is my room.” He tried to smile. “You _like_ my room.”

_You like me._

Cassim scowled and stepped away, until his back was against the wall. “Untie me now.”

Alibaba faltered. In his haste to reconcile, he answered wrong. Cassim had lifted his hands to show his tied wrists, not to question the location. How could Alibaba make it right again? Untie him? Let him go? He didn’t want to trap Cassim, but he also didn’t want him to run. He didn’t want Cassim to get himself killed by guards before the two of them had a chance to talk properly, before Alibaba was able to explain his case. Before they could make up.

He cupped Cassim’s face between his hands and kissed him gently, but Cassim’s teeth were clenched. His eyes were closed, and his brows furrowed when Alibaba pulled away.

“Cassim,” said Alibaba, hurt.

“I can’t do this.” Cassim took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, Alibaba felt the tension in the room melt into something softer but just a powerful: despair. “A cage is a cage,” he said, grimacing as he twisted at his bonds. “It doesn’t matter how pleasant your chambers are. I’m your prisoner. My _life_ , it’s… Alibaba, it’s—”

“It’s in my hands,” Alibaba finished quietly.

He gazed down at Cassim’s red wrists and reached for them. Again, Cassim pulled away. Alibaba grabbed them. When he drew a knife from the silk sash around his waist, Cassim flinched but waited until Alibaba cut the rope around his wrists. Alibaba felt a flutter of hope in that small display of trust and said, “We can make this work. We’ve always made it through bad situations before.”

“We were on the same side then.”

Alibaba knew the guards took Cassim’s dagger. He knew Cassim felt vulnerable. If he wanted Cassim’s trust, then he would have to make him comfortable. It’s not enough that he cared. He needed to _show_ it. He held out his own knife, its handle toward Cassim, and said, “We still are.”

Cassim stared at Alibaba’s dagger. It wasn’t anything special: a simple fisherman’s knife from the harbor markets down south. Plain steel. It was a weapon Cassim could wield, something from his own turf. Alibaba knew Cassim recognized it. The familiarity mattered.

When Cassim took the knife by the hilt, their eyes met. For a second, Alibaba was certain Cassim would push the blade forward and twist it into his belly. But the moment passed, and Cassim hid the knife in a sheath beneath his rags. He gave Alibaba a cursory nod and stepped past him, toward the door.

“Wait,” Alibaba protested, following him across the room. “There are guards everywhere. I know you want to get back to Mariam, but let’s come up with a plan. Stay here. _Please_.”

“I can’t,” said Cassim, his voice thick. “I have to save Zainab and Hassan.”

-

It had taken Alibaba many months to learn the layout of the palace, but Cassim had accomplished it in one. And then, in three turns, Cassim lost Alibaba’s retainers to the intersection of two hallways. On the fifth, he ditched Alibaba.

It was fortunate that Alibaba knew where the dungeons were, and the good fortune continued in that he did not arrive a moment later. Right at the entrance, he found Cassim frozen in a staring contest with General Barkak.

“Not another step forward, son,” the soldier warned Cassim, who replied by pointing Alibaba’s dagger at him. It gleamed by the orange light of Alibaba’s lamp.

Gingerly, Alibaba made his way between them—to Barkak’s dismay—and placed a hand on Cassim’s arm. “Maybe we _don’t_ use that immediately,” he said as Cassim clicked his tongue in annoyance. To the general, he pleaded, “Let’s just release the prisoners. There’s only two of them anyway.”

“They’ve stolen a huge chunk of Balbadd’s treasury, my prince. They cannot escape.” Barkak nodded grimly to Cassim, whose dark eyes narrowed. Alibaba could feel Cassim tensing like a tiger ready to pounce, and he tightened his grip on Cassim’s wrist. Barkak shook his head at that. “I do not understand why you would arm him.”

Alibaba lowered his chin. “He’s important to me,” he said, but it felt like a weak excuse. It didn’t justify the headache Alibaba and Cassim brought to the man tonight; that was for certain. General Barkak didn’t deserve this. He was a good man. He gave Alibaba the attention that Alibaba craved from his royal kin. He trained Alibaba to fight like a prince.

But Cassim was the one who taught Alibaba how to fight for his _life_ , and he said, “Alibaba is mine as much as I am his. Royalty or not, he would do anything for me, so stand aside for your prince.”

Barkak’s eyebrows rose at that. Alibaba smiled weakly and nodded. “Let him go. I’ll bear the consequences.”

“But Prince Alibaba…”

“Balbadd is _dying_ with your king,” Cassim interrupted. “Do you really want the two older princes anywhere near the throne? Ahbmad is willing to enslave his citizens, and Sahbmad won’t stop him.”

But Alibaba hadn’t either. In fact, he was the one that started this whole mess, from the confrontation with his older brothers all the way back to when he started digging his palace tunnel. He did nothing as Barkak stared down at Cassim, studying him. It wouldn’t do any good to contradict Cassim right now and draw his ire, so Alibaba let Cassim continue.

“What the Fog Troupe took from the treasury is insurance. If the new king is corrupt, then we’ll be prepared to take him out.”

 _That’s treason,_ Alibaba wanted to say, but again, he held his silence.

“And what do you propose afterward… Cassim?” Barkak said, quiet as a whisper.

“King Rashid wanted to make this one his heir anyway, didn’t he?” Cassim nodded to Alibaba. “My loyalty is with him. I’ll see his wish fulfilled.”

Barkak rubbed his beard thoughtfully and said, “I see.”

Alibaba could hardly believe what was unfolding in front of his very eyes. General Barkak, responsible and loyal to the crown—yet _not_ condemning Cassim’s words of sedition. Alibaba felt a shiver go down his spine.

Barkak raised his hand and dropped a ring of keys into Cassim’s palms. Alibaba marveled at how easily Cassim won over the general, and before he knew it, Cassim took his lamp, too. As they followed Cassim to the cell housing Hassan and Zainab, the general gave Alibaba a stern look. “We will say he overpowered you and that I arrived too late.”

Alibaba nodded again, dazed. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, if he’s honest. He couldn’t bear the thought of Cassim resenting him, of Cassim _suffering_ , but his old friend had robbed the royal vaults with his gang. Alibaba knew he should be punished, and yet, Cassim had twisted his crime into an act of heroism, convincing even General Barkak… and maybe Alibaba as well. But Alibaba _knew_ Cassim and what he was capable of.

Or at least, Alibaba thought he did before tonight. How could Cassim be so contrary to the memory Alibaba cherished for so long, and yet be exactly as how Alibaba remembered him? It was frustrating. Cassim often made Alibaba second-guess himself, but of all things considered, one fact remained constant: Cassim lies. Alibaba would be wise not to forget that.

The locks came undone with a clatter.

“Cassim!”

The two prisoners rushed to him, clapping his arms and shoulders in a gleeful reunion. He grinned and pulled them into a huddle. Alibaba felt a twinge of jealousy at the sight. He always thought Cassim’s affection was to be earned, one smile at a time in exchange for a favor, but Cassim heaped it generously to his other friends. Alibaba remembered Hassan and Zainab. They started hanging around Cassim when Anise died. Cassim started smoking then, and even though he promised he would take care of Alibaba and Mariam, he sure did spend a lot of his time with his other friends.

Alibaba was sure that was when it started, the crack between him and Cassim.

When Cassim turned back to face him, Alibaba felt the distance in his gaze. It was cold, unbearably so after a month of warmth and intimacy. The impulse to grab Cassim and pull him back was overpowering, but Alibaba reined it in hard.

“How shall we proceed, my prince?” asked General Barkak.

Alibaba bit his tongue before he could say something he regretted and breathed in sharply. He closed his eyes from Cassim’s gaze.

“The tunnel is blocked now,” he said at last. “General, I trust you to escort them safely back to the city.”

Barkak shifted at his side. “As you wish.”

Alibaba watched the orb of light from the lamp shrink as the large man led Cassim and his friends away down the corridor. Cassim’s expression was unreadable. Maybe ambiguity was for the best. It was as much as Alibaba could handle.

The adventure was drawing to an end. Alibaba’s heart was heavy, but he was sure he made the right choice. It would be wrong to keep Cassim, no matter how much Alibaba wanted to, even if he had the power to— _especially_ because he had the power to.

Alibaba sniffed and blinked fast. Cassim got what he wanted, and they’re separating on good terms. A little worse than before, yes, but at least they were honest tonight. Perhaps in a couple of years, by some miracle, they would meet again. Alibaba might recognize him less next time, and Cassim might even be nicer. He had said he would make Alibaba king, didn’t? How ridiculous. Maybe Alibaba would be wise enough talk him out of it then. Maybe they could pick up where they left off and try again, whatever it was they were doing…

“Damn it.” The tears spilled over. Alibaba rubbed them away vigorously with the heel of his hand.

As fucked up as it was, deep down, Alibaba didn’t want Cassim to escape.

The past month had been so good. It was like seeing color again after two years of gray, and without Cassim, Alibaba would return to his repetitive royal routine. He’d sink back to the anxiety of never being good enough, of being the most expendable prince, of not belonging. It had been so good being special to Cassim.

When Alibaba wiped at his eyes again, he saw Cassim standing before him, with the lamp in his hand.

Cassim sighed sheepishly and glanced away. “Changed my mind,” he muttered. “I’m staying.”

“Cassim—!” Alibaba began, but a snot bubble burst from his nose, and he quickly covered his face, embarrassed. But Cassim laughed, and it was a beautiful sound. “W-why?”

“My Troupe stole a treasure trove from your vaults. Did you really think your general friend would let me go that easily?” Cassim flicked Alibaba’s forehead. “I came back ‘cause he was about to throw me in another cell. I would’ve been screwed, and you wouldn’t have even known, and yeah—I know what I said earlier, but I’d rather stay in your room than _here_ …”

First of all, that was wildly out of character for General Barkak.

Second, and more strikingly, Cassim never babbled. It surprised Cassim, too, and he was growing more and more horrified at his sudden inability to shut up. Alibaba couldn’t help but laugh, partly in delight and partly in relief. His legs were weak beneath him.

Alibaba threw his arms around Cassim’s neck. “You’re lying,” he said, “but I don’t care.”

“Yeah.” Cassim’s face was hot against his cheek. “That’s just like you.”

-

Alibaba’s feet were heavy in the morning, and his dagger more so in his hand. He stumbled and tripped for an hour before General Barkak ended their sword lesson. Alibaba sat listlessly in the shade, waiting for the inevitable lecture to come.

“You had an eventful night,” said Barkak, arms folded across his chest, towering over Alibaba, who already knew that because he hadn’t slept a wink with Cassim tossing and turning at his side. Barkak rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Things will be more complicated with him here, but it does mean we can keep an eye on him and, by extension, the Fog Troupe.”

Alibaba looked down at his knife. He could see the dark circles under his eyes in the reflection. “Do you know why Cassim stayed?”

Barkak sighed and shifted his weight to one foot. “The young man, your friend—I suspect he was worried for his comrades.”

“Was he going to be imprisoned in their place? Without my knowledge?”

Barkak looked appalled at the suggestion. “I would have certainly told you, my prince, if the thought had even crossed my mind.”

Alibaba groaned, exasperated and tired beyond reason. “I knew he was lying!”

“It was… strange,” said Barkak. Alibaba looked up, and Barkak continued, “He stared at his companions while we walked down the hall. I could tell he was thinking hard about something. Then, out of the blue, he told them he would stay. And after that, he walked back to you by himself.”

Alibaba frowned. “He didn’t say why?”

“I can’t tell what that one is thinking,” said Barkak, “and we’ll be in trouble if you can’t either.”

-

Alibaba trudged back into his room, his mind dizzy and muddled. He shed his sheath, his shoes, his sash and robes and slid back under the covers, where he found Cassim, warm and asleep. He stirred when Alibaba nuzzled against his neck.

“Mm...”

“Cassim?”

Alibaba waited for Cassim’s brain to resurface from slumber. He liked watching Cassim slowly wake up. It was a rare experience, ever since they were kids. Cassim was the last to sleep and the first to wake, and when he was up, he was up: alert, vigilant, and often frowny.

But today was different. Alibaba watched as Cassim’s chest rose and fell, as Cassim’s eyes opened beneath a ray of sunlight, which lit the bands of color around his pupils from a dark brown to a striking amber-gold. Cassim stretched luxuriously, and when Alibaba saw the little smile on Cassim’s lips, he knew Cassim was making a show of it for him. Alibaba grinned. It was nice when Cassim took his time for Alibaba.

“Cassim,” he said again, this time in Cassim’s ear, and Cassim groaned and rolled on top of him, mussing up Alibaba’s hair with kisses. Alibaba grunted but let Cassim have his way.

“You smell terrible,” Cassim mumbled into his bangs. Alibaba gave an indignant huff, but Cassim held on when he struggled to free himself. “No, it’s fine,” he laughed. “Just stay like this a little longer. Stay with me.” Alibaba could feel his heart melt at the request, and he eased back.

But Barkak was right; Cassim’s mind was tough to follow. It was only a few hours ago when Cassim was so angry that he couldn’t even stand the sight of Alibaba. And now, _this._ Alibaba wrapped his arms around Cassim’s waist and nuzzled into the thick locks of Cassim’s hair.

“Why did you come back?” Alibaba drew lazy little circles along Cassim’s back. “I’m glad, but you said so yourself: you’re a prisoner in the palace.”

“Alibaba,” Cassim chided, smiling gently. “Don’t you see? I came back for you.”

Alibaba smiled back.

Cassim was lying. He was planning something. For now, however, Alibaba let it slide. He was tired and wanted affection. He didn’t know why Cassim was being so soft and sweet, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

And then, he’d roll with the punches, no matter how many Cassim threw.


	3. Cassim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassim makes a deal he was unprepared to honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings to be aware of this chapter: sex and stressed-induced vomiting. Not at the same time, lol.

Cassim lied about many things, but what he told Alibaba was true. He had returned for Alibaba’s sake.

Among other reasons, like his pride.

As he, Hassan, and Zainab followed General Barkak outside, Cassim felt annoyed. He was running away. Like a dog with his tail between his legs, he was running away from a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  _Cassim,_ he had thought, _how can you leave, when the greatest treasure is still inside the palace?_

True, the Fog Troupe had swiped enough riches to triple their size, but real power still eluded him like water between his fingers. It flowed through royal veins, toward the heart of the country—to Ahbmad Saluja, the prince regent: that shitty pig of a man with the fate of Balbadd clenched firmly between his teeth. How Cassim hated him. He hated his thoughtless cruelty. He hated the gleeful spark of inspiration in Ahbmad’s eyes when Cassim was on his knees and Alibaba had suggested _ownership._ The memory felt raw, and Cassim will never forgive Alibaba.

Yet no matter how angry he was, he could not leave Alibaba’s fate to the pig. He would find a way to save Alibaba and seize Ahbmad’s power, somehow, even if it meant he had to burn the palace to the ground.

That was Cassim's decision. Those were the reasons for which he came back. And this where they led him: back in Alibaba's bed. 

He watched Alibaba approach with an armful of scrolls. They tumbled onto the sheets, unfurling in stripes of thick parchment. Intricate calligraphy and drawings. Cassim tilted his head as he gazed down at the old ink. He was a slow reader, but it was unmistakably the history of Balbadd.

“This was all I could find about concubines,” said Alibaba, surveying the bed with determination. “Let’s figure out what to do about your situation.”

Cassim nodded, scanning the documents. His heart sank lower as he read a quiet thirty minutes into their studies. It was clear. His status was a blade was against his throat. He was technically a member of the royal court, but only as an extension of Alibaba. He wasn’t even his own man, not even a _citizen_ of Balbadd anymore. He was simply Alibaba’s. How ironic for Cassim to be unable to afford any luxuries for his entire life, only to become one for a prince. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

“Concubines didn’t have the same rights as wives because they weren’t officially married to the master of the house, who was usually of noble blood,” Alibaba explained, handing the corresponding texts to Cassim, who glared at them. “Look, these laws were written into effect back when marriage was more about property, and they had to differentiate between wives and concubines.”

“Can’t have the master of the house treating his noblewoman wife the same as a slave girl he bought home, can we?” Cassim said scathingly. He tried to laugh, but he was agitated. Somewhere in his mind, he was certain this couldn't be happening to him. He was still fighting reality, and it was all he could do to remind himself he had everything under control.

But a little voice in the back of his head kept asking him, _are you sure_ _?_

“Y’know, it’s such an old tradition that it’s hard to say how any of it really applies now.” Alibaba grimaced and looked away. “Also, could you maybe stop staring at me like you wanna murder me?”

Cassim sat there, rigid, and he realized he was clenching his teeth.

He couldn’t remember what it was he wanted to say back. Maybe he just couldn’t put into words. More than anything, he wanted to scream. He wanted to pound his fists against Alibaba and pull his hair and cry. But he didn’t. His skin grew hot under Alibaba’s gaze, and this time, Cassim had to look away. It was like his chest was clogged with cotton, heavy and suffocating.

He knew that he and Alibaba could never be partners the way they used to be, and he knew Alibaba wasn’t trying to rub salt into this gaping wound between them because he was trying to help. But god, how Cassim hated him right now. He hated aristocrats, he hated powerful men, and he hated Alibaba for abandoning the slums with the king. Together, it meant he hated Alibaba threefold. And that felt bad, too. 

Cassim dropped his face into his palms. He rubbed his eyes and let his frustration crest into misery. He said the most hurtful thing he could think of, “What would Anise think of us now?”

Alibaba swallowed hard at his mother’s name. “She’d… be disappointed in me.” Good. At least Alibaba had some self-awareness of what he’s put Cassim through. The prince scratched his head and sat up straight. “But she’d want us to make the best of the situation, like she would.”

Well.

What a resolution. Cassim felt another surge of indignation rise in his throat. Anise was an optimist, but she would have never done this to him in the first place. In fact, she had put her dignity aside in the past to protect Cassim, and that was the difference between mother and son. But Alibaba had the power right now, and he was willing to help, so Cassim forced down his feelings and said, “Then, let’s make the best of it. How do I get back my citizenship?”

(And if Alibaba noticed Cassim fidgeting a pillow tassel to fray, he pretended not to.)

“Here, let’s look at the history. Concubines were usually prisoners of war,” Alibaba said and unrolled a scroll. “But after the Saluja dynasty came to power, Balbadd began to focus on trade instead of expansion. No more war prisoners, but so much more money than we knew what to do with. Once slavery was abolished, people were paid for their labor, and then they spent what they were paid, so the money kept going around the country.”

Cassim snorted. “Could’ve fooled me, considering how little of it we saw growing up.”

“It’s true that we’ve had ups and downs throughout the generations, but I think things were getting better.” Alibaba gazed wistfully at the glorious history of his ancestors. “Father really brought us to a good place during his reign.”

“Again, hard to see the good while living in the gutters,” said Cassim, collapsing backward onto the bed. He stared up at the elaborate tile mosaic on the ceiling and amended, “Not that you’d remember it, since you’re here now.”

“That’s not true,” said Alibaba, and there was an unusual urgency in his voice. “Cassim, I don’t like it in the palace. You know I would rather be free with you. I’d rather go back to where we grew up!”

_But it’s gone. It went up in flames and Mariam with it._

Cassim stared up at design, starry yellow against deep ocean blues, and said instead, “You’d rather live in a dump than in the palace.”

“Once you’re here as long as I’ve been, you’ll see,” Alibaba replied solemnly. “Everyone wears a mask, and they expect things of you. You have to play along, even if you’re losing. You’re at the mercy of the royal court’s opinion—everyone’s favorite one day, then ignored the next. You can never be too careful, or else you’ll end up gambling away what influence you had in the first place—”

“And what makes influence?” Cassim scoffed. “Money? Possessions? Your body, your pride, your humanity? Spare me your poetry.”

Cassim had seen it already. He was no stranger to the adult world. He once knew a kindly old tanner. A good man. He cared for the abandoned litters of puppies that Mariam had a knack for discovering. Then, dog-skin leather became popular among the nobles. The tanner found his fortune. Within a year, he had moved on to a better neighborhood. Poor Mariam cried bitterly in the skeleton of his old work shack. In rage, Cassim and his friends tore it down, but in hindsight, he had to thank the man for such a valuable life lesson.

People were willing to throw away their softness, if it meant a chance to live more comfortably. Cassim could understand that.

The problem of influence, however, was a mystery. Cassim couldn’t see how Alibaba could struggle with it. Born to a king, Alibaba’s influence was endless. Consider Ahbmad. He had more power than any nobleman below him. For Alibaba to claim the opposite, that a few petty aristocrats could destroy a prince when he could behead them at a command, Cassim could only assume has lying. Yet Alibaba was earnest as always, and Cassim concluded that fools believed in their own lies.

If he were to think about it, Alibaba had never been truly uncomfortable. Anise protected her son from the cruelties of the world, and then Cassim stepped in when she passed. In the palace, Alibaba ascended to the top of society, untouchable like the crown, where he would never again want for anything in his life, forever soft as sea foam on sand. He would never dive as deep into desperation as Cassim had in order to survive, not when he could afford to live with his shallow view of the world.

And that was, perhaps, the root of Cassim’s anxiety. Could he trust Alibaba not to destroy him by accident? If he put Cassim in a cage to keep them together, couldn’t he do worse and think it was for the better? All it took was a few words in the spur of the moment, and Cassim had been tied up and forced into the Third Prince’s bed.

But then, he had returned to the bed by himself.

When Cassim finally sat up, he could feel Alibaba’s gaze on him like a weight. Their eyes met, and Cassim moved forward, until he was close enough to rest his forearms on Alibaba’s shoulders. He clasped his fingers together, leaning in until he could feel Alibaba’s breath against his lips. Maybe he wanted Cassim to take charge like he used to when they were children. Cassim could do that. He could make demands of Alibaba. They both knew he was persuasive, and it was better to be straightforward about their arrangement. He’d barter on his strengths. Negotiate mutual benefits. After all, Alibaba had made his desires clear.

Cassim smiled. It was a smile he knew was neither gentle nor sweet, but it was inviting, and it made Alibaba’s mouth part.

“How ‘bout an exchange?”

He felt Alibaba shiver and stiffen beneath him. The blond’s voice cracked when he asked, hesitantly, “Exchange?”

“Sure.” True, Cassim’s status was a sword, but it was double edged—especially if he was as willing to use it. “You said that there’s no telling how the old concubine laws fit in today’s Balbadd. What’s to stop us from making new laws?”

“Of course. It’s a new era. We could change how concubinage works in Balbadd!” Alibaba agreed, gazing up at him, looking for all the world like he needed Cassim to praise him for his amenability. He needed Cassim’s approval.

But Cassim wasn’t that easy. Why fix something that began broken? Why not smash it to dust entirely and be rid of it once and for all? Alibaba was too comfortable in their current setup, so Cassim would make him uncomfortable.

“I want my rights back,” he said, straddling Alibaba’s waist, running his fingers through his hair. Alibaba leaned into his touch like a cat. “And I think you can get me that.”

“Cassim—" But before Alibaba could continue, Cassim grabbed a handful of that soft, yellow hair.

“First, I want the freedom to roam the palace without shackles or guards on my heels,” Cassim whispered in Alibaba’s ear. Alibaba opened his mouth to protest, but Cassim gave him a light yank. He wasn’t done. “Nothing short of full freedom, or so help me, Alibaba—”

Alibaba’s voice rattled in a growl, in pain. Cassim barely had a moment to blink before Alibaba pinned him on his back with his hands all over Cassim’s face and throat. A compromising position to reach a compromise, but Cassim's been in worse. He held his grip on Alibaba’s hair and smirked when he elicited a grimace.

“So, help me, Alibaba,” he repeated.

“I’ll have it done,” Alibaba panted, and Cassim released him, pleased. “In exchange, no one else gets to be intimate with you.”

Cassim blinked, noticing how fierce and golden and dark Alibaba’s eyes had become. “What?”

“Only me.”

Cassim could hardly believe it: “You really want me to be your concubine.”

Alibaba gazed down at him, silent, his hands still hot on Cassim.

Despite his own misgivings, Cassim genuinely hadn’t expected the palace to change Alibaba this much. He thought Alibaba would protest a little more and make a bigger show of being a good man. He’d huff and pout, but he’d cave to Cassim’s whims in the end, without demands. That was Cassim’s Alibaba.

But maybe this wasn’t the same Alibaba that Cassim had grown up with after all. Maybe they both had changed too much in the last two years, and Cassim’s Alibaba was gone. Cassim was with a stranger this entire time. The thought left him cold, as if he were walking through mist.

 _But this works,_ Cassim thought because it gave him permission to care less. He repeated it over and over in his mind as he silently pulled Alibaba down by the collar of his robes. He began to unbutton his own, still thinking, _this works, this works, this works._

“Cassim,” Alibaba began, but Cassim shut him up with a kiss.

_This works._

-

Alibaba came back the next evening and said, “It’s done.”

And it was. The guards left that night. Cassim walked down the hall from Alibaba’s chambers, unhindered by any restraints or chaperones, listening to the soft echoes of his own footsteps. Another set joined his. Alibaba. Cassim felt him entwine their fingers together, and he let himself be guided back to their bed.

"How'd you get it done?" Cassim asked afterward.

"Secret," said Alibaba sleepily, and for once, Cassim decided not to push his luck.

-

“So, this is what it’s like to be spoiled,” Cassim said, sardonically, into a half-bitten peach. It was sweet and soft, imported from Kou. He licked the juice from his fingers as Alibaba brushed his hair from his shoulders.

Cassim felt him press a kiss to the back of his neck and sighed at the useless sentimentality of it. When Alibaba hugged him tight from behind, Cassim grunted back in half-hearted annoyance. There was no point in protesting. It would go in one ear and out the other. Alibaba was always a little slow after sex. But he took his time with Cassim, enough to make Cassim’s voice hitch and his toes curl. When Alibaba nudged him onto his back for a kiss, he found himself thwarted by the peach in Cassim's mouth.

They laughed, despite everything wrong between them.

“You wanna take a bath with me?” asked Alibaba.

Cassim contemplated his peach pit and said, “Sure, why not?”

It was comforting in a way. The transactional nature worked for them. It cut out what they were to each other before the deal, and it smoothed down their expectations to the act of sex, the things that led up to it, and the afterglow. Alibaba got Cassim whatever he asked for—more privileges, freedoms, anything—and all Cassim had to do was fuck him, vice versa. If Cassim was in a good mood, they’d take a bath later. They’d enjoy each other’s presence, and they’d pretend that the situation was good enough for them.

_It works._

It had to. Otherwise, what were they even doing?

_What would Anise think of us now?_

“Where are you going?”

Cassim paused and then continued pulling on his pants. He tied a sash around his waist, one of Alibaba’s blue ones, and pulled an embroidered robe over his shoulders. He could feel Alibaba’s eyes on him when he tied his hair up, and as he walked to the door, he heard Alibaba shift in bed.

“Cassim, where are you going?”

“I’ll be back,” Cassim replied.

Because where else would he go?

-

Cassim could have made peace with his last memory of Alibaba being the one of him waving goodbye from the king’s carriage. He was sure of it.

But then, he would roll over and see Alibaba asleep: older now, and pretty in a clueless way, but so pretty and so good at giving Cassim what he wanted; just enough to keep him there, and just _not enough_ to keep him coming back for more. It was effortless. Natural charisma. Cassim once thought he had it himself, but it was different to be a leader who inspired heartfelt loyalty versus one who could only offer a better future. It was best to be both, but better to be the first. Like all good things, Cassim reasoned, you were lucky to be born with it, and Alibaba was born with everything Cassim wanted. Cassim envied him endlessly for it. He wished he could hate him for it, too.

He had tried, and there were times when he'd think he had succeeded, but it'd never last. He would have moments and hours and days when he hated Alibaba with violence boiling in his heart, but then came night, and Cassim would watch Alibaba, blissfully asleep, and all that hate simmered down into an aching fondness. It stung at his tired eyes, and he’d hate _himself_ for his own softness.

During the day, Cassim avoided Alibaba. He was free to roam around. He even received permission to enter the aristocrat parlors on Alibaba’s behalf, though he rarely went because what was the point in mingling with lesser nobles when he already had a prince? He spent more time exploring where he hadn’t been allowed to go, keener to test the limits of forgiveness granted him for his trespasses. It was fun, but not as fun as it had been that first month he was with Alibaba.

Cassim went where he pleased at night, too, but he was usually more careful. He could slip out from Alibaba’s arms without waking him, cotton clothes made little noise, and it was only twenty soundless paces from the bed to the door.

But tonight, he dropped his dagger. The treacherous little thing clattered on the ground with the cacophony of a thunderclap. Cassim left it. It used to be Alibaba’s anyway. Maybe that’s why it wiggled free—to warn its former master that Cassim was running off. But it wasn’t as if Cassim was going anywhere. Plans were underway; at least, that’s what he told himself.

He just couldn’t sleep next to Alibaba for another night without feeling like his whore.

It shouldn’t have been a problem. Cassim had fucked for gain in the past, even though he promised Anise he wouldn’t follow in her footsteps. At the time—each time—he believed Anise would understand. He did what he must to survive poverty, feuds, plague, and poverty again. It was practical, and Cassim liked sex. It was the only thing he liked about this mess with Alibaba. They could have shared a single body with how well they knew each other. It should have worked. He could have laughed and agreed he was whoring around in any situation such as this.

Except this felt like a demotion.

This felt bad because he and Alibaba used to be best friends. Sworn brothers, even, who had been raised by the same kind, wonderful woman. It was his own fault. Cassim was the one who dealt the first crack when he kissed Alibaba under the covers a month ago. Alibaba worsened it by wanting more. They had deconstructed their relationship down to the bare bones of what each desired from the other, stripping away their boundaries until they saw the ugliest in both. Cassim knew he could be as inscrutable as smoke, but Alibaba was greedy like fire.

It would have been easier to be a whore who happened to fuck his childhood friend, Cassim decided. Everything was worse as Alibaba's concubine because not only was Alibaba Anise’s son, it was he who tied Cassim down in the first place. He upped the ante on Cassim’s deal. He had Cassim’s life in his hands.

All the regrets Cassim swallowed were burning a hole in his stomach. His head hurt.

Was it still enslavement when Cassim kept going back? If his endgame was to use Alibaba, wouldn’t it be Cassim’s own fault, if he ultimately failed and lost his freedom forever?

He’d gone to the orange courtyard to clear his head, but instead threw up in a big flower pot.

He crouched over it, dry-heaving, thinking,  _I'm sorry I let this get out of hand, Anise, I'm so fucking sorry,_  but desperately hoping she couldn't hear him in the afterlife because then, she would _know,_ and how could he face her after all this?

His throat burned. His heart raced. He wiped at his nose and swallowed the taste of bile in his mouth. He shouldn’t have made this gamble. He was in over his head. Too much of it relied on Alibaba, and not enough was under Cassim’s control. If only he hadn’t gotten involved with Alibaba. If only he had left Alibaba during the raid, if only he hadn’t planned so ambitiously, if only he hadn’t reunited with Alibaba, if only they had never met, if only Cassim had never been born at all to a life of endless disappointments!

He stopped himself. _No._ No, it wasn't as if he could have prevented the last two, especially his own birth… God, was he really sitting here wishing he hadn’t been born?

“Pathetic,” he muttered, pressing his palms to his burning eyes. “Get a hold of yourself!”

He couldn’t go down that line of thought. He couldn’t lose faith in his own plans, or else he had nothing left. He would be out of options. He would be trapped.

The southern breeze blew in from the sea, gentle and briny. It was quiet. He listened to the orange trees whispering amongst themselves and the grasshoppers chirping. The eternal push-pull wash of the ocean lulled his heart to a steady beat, and as he rubbed the unwelcome tears from his eyes, he heard voices. Men approaching.

Cassim turned his head and looked. Between the dark foliage, he caught the reflection of moonlight on light fabric. He rose to a crouch, silently, and slipped into the shadows. It couldn’t have been servants or guards; they wore only cotton, and Cassim definitely heard the swish of silk. That ruled out the gardeners as well, not that they would be up at this hour anyway.

As he neared the men—two of them—he identified one of them as an old man he didn’t recognize. He was the one in the silk, Cassim realized. The man had long, silvery-white hair and sat before a small stone table in the middle of the courtyard. His companion was a large man, and from a glint of metal, Cassim recognized the armor before the man.

Before Cassim could retreat, the old man spoke, “General Barkak, who is the boy here with us tonight?”

Cassim froze. He considered making a break for it, but the old man lifted a hand and waved him over.

“Come here.”

Hesitant, Cassim bit his lip. He weighed his options. He had won Barkak over once, and the man had even agreed to help him escape. If Barkak were commanded to dispose of Cassim, perhaps he would repeat his act of generosity, if at least per Alibaba’s orders. As much as Cassim hated the logic, surely no one would harm that which belonged to the prince. He was safe. Probably.

He took a breath and stepped into the light.

The old man looked him over and said, “It’s rare to see a boy from the docks here.”

Cassim smiled with confidence, but he felt awkward. His origins showed despite Alibaba’s expensive robe. “You can tell?”

“It’s your hair,” said the man. “You’re descended from the Yambala settlers of two centuries past.”

Cassim caught himself unconsciously touching the locks by his face and dropped his hand, twice embarrassed in the same minute.

“The Yambala have hair that can weave into locks as thick as ropes. An impressive, hardy race. Good for fighting.” Cassim frowned. The man’s words made him uneasy. He tensed when the man gestured again, more subdued. “Come here.”

Barkak cleared his throat. “I really don’t—”

“Call me Harun,” the old man insisted, with a glance to Barkak, and Cassim heard the old general sigh in exasperation before falling silent. From this, Cassim decided that the old man was highly ranked. At the very least, he surmised, a chief advisor to the royal family.

Warily, Cassim sat down across the table from Harun and studied him. The man’s fatigue was apparent. Bone-deep. Cassim understood why Harun wasted very little energy in his movements because he’d seen this kind of exhaustion before: the sallow color of the man’s skin and his sunken eyes, his silver-white hair wasting away to dullness, his dry, cracked lips. Cassim knew it well from the Illness that had killed Mariam.

“Back during Balbadd’s second Golden Age, the king courted talents from around the world. Among them were warriors of the Yambala clan from the east,” Harun continued, his voice now softer, like the sound of a foot sinking in fine gravel. “They still travel, this clan. As far as Reim, so I’ve heard.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Cassim glanced down and noticed the checkered wooden board between them. On his side sat two rows of ebony figures. On Harun’s side, two rows of gold. Cassim had seen the setup in the marketplace before. He’d watched men play this game, even tried to learn it once, but he much preferred the dice games played on the same board. This one seemed tedious. Cassim turned to Harun. “I wouldn’t know ‘cause I’ve never been outside Balbadd.”

“But you did survive the plague.” Despite his weakened state, the man’s eyes were bright as two new coins in sunlight. “The last census shows that most survivors were of Yambala descent.”

“My sister didn’t.” Cassim shouldn’t have said it, but he felt this man should know, this powerful man who was dying the same death as a poor girl.

Harun stared at him a moment, his face betraying nothing, and then looked down at the board. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said with the appropriate amount of gravity. Then, after an equally appropriate amount of silence, he moved one of the smaller pieces forward. “But it’s good that you lived on and came here.”

"Tch." Cassim didn’t bother hiding his scorn. “Should I be grateful I survived when she didn’t?” He copied Harun’s move, angrily pushing one of his figures forward a square. “Should I be grateful I was granted access to these hallowed halls?”

“At the very least, those who are able to live in the palace do not starve.” Harun studied the board. He nodded to Barkak and said, “General, I'm tired. D-2 to D-3.”

Cassim watched Barkak make the move for him and mirrored it on his own side. “But people inside the palace can die of the same diseases as people on the outside.”

“D-3 to E-4. Eat his soldier.”

And Cassim pursued, “That shows we’re all human, aren’t we?”

“Elephant to A-3.”

“Seems unfair that some people starve while others eat, depending on which side of the walls we live on.”

Barkak looked at Cassim with incredulous ire, but Harun observed him coolly. “If you plan to simply copy my movements, I will win.”

Cassim moved a different piece.

“The chariot cannot move diagonally. It’s against the rules.” Cassim moved another piece, but once again: “The horse can’t move that far. Against the rules. No, not like that either. You cannot play the counselor in that manner, but the elephant may go there. That, however, is—”

“It’s against the rules,” Cassim finished for him, through his teeth, and dropped the piece. It rattled across the board, upsetting its peers.

“And there you have it,” said Harun, leveling him with a gaze that was oddly familiar. His eyes were golden. “Your answer.”

Cassim refused to lower his eyes.

“When you are born to a society, you must live by its rules, correct?” Harun continued. “Even if that means you’re outside of the palace. But you were fortunate in that you were able to bypass the rules. You made it inside. Do you know why that’s important?”

Taken aback, Cassim glanced between Harun and the board. He racked his mind for some clue in their conversation, but realized the answer was simple. It was as simple as Cassim and Alibaba getting out of bed in the morning and then getting back in at night. It was the frustrating reality of his situation: “Because the rules we live by are made from the inside.”

Harun cleared his throat in approval and sat back. His eyes took on a pensive softness. “Sometimes, the people born in the palace weren't meant to rule, and they cast out the ones who were.”

Cassim felt the cold granite table against his elbows and realized he had leaned forward, captivated by Harun’s labyrinth of words. It drew in Cassim like the sensation of déjà vu, this magnetic aura that surrounded Harun.

“It’s good that you’re here,” said Harun again, slowly rising to his feet. He gave Cassim a wry smile. “Here, you’ll find it easier to come across an opportunity of a lifetime. Here, it is easier to gain influence.”

“Influence.” There’s that word again. Cassim held his gaze skeptically, his brows furrowed. “Can I really gain influence when I came from nothing?”

Harun leaned forward and tapped the board. “This game—it’s a fun Sindrian game. It's popular in Balbadd and certainly a favorite amongst the sailors in the Seven Seas Alliance. This game was developed by my student,” he said, smiling. “He, too, came from nothing, but I daresay he is now the most important man in Sindria.”

Cassim pulled back, feeling uneasy. There was something uncanny about Harun that set Cassim on edge. This warmth, this encouragement, this engagement; the twinkle of mischief, the cleverness, the golden eyes. Cassim regarded him warily. “You're indulging me. Why?”

Harun’s face was hard to read, but there was sadness in its creases. Before he turned away, and before General Barkak separated them with his formidable physical being, Harun said, “I know your name is Cassim. I owe you a debt for my son’s life.”

-

Cassim returned by dawn, dazed.

He found Alibaba sitting on the bed, watching the door. Relief first lit Alibaba’s face, but it was soon replaced by anger and hurt. A conversation was to be had, but Cassim ignored it in favor of his own. He went straight to Alibaba, climbing into bed, over the blankets and pillows until he was practically on top of him. Alibaba tensed up.

“Umm, Cassim?”

Belatedly, Cassim realized that he must have seemed like a madman, smelling of sweat and orange trees as he clambered over, his eyes wide and ringed with dark circles. But that hardly mattered now.

“Alibaba,” he said, “What do you know of a man named Harun?”

Instantly, Alibaba’s expression softened from annoyance to concern. And confusion. He cupped Cassim’s face in his hands and said, “Harun Rashid Saluja is my father, the king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassim and Harun are playing a game based loosely on chaturanga, an Indian game that eventually branched off into chess. Honestly, I just wanted to write Cassim interacting with Alibaba's dad, so that's why he's still alive in the AU. 
> 
> As a side note, I feel this is an appropriate time to mention that the working title for this fic was "yandere Alibaba" at the beginning.


	4. Alibaba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alibaba returns to the slums and finds a stranger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: mentions of previous sexual relationships and canon character death. Extremely jealous lover.

Alibaba had two daggers again, which meant Cassim was walking around with none.

Alibaba reasoned to himself that it was better for Cassim to be unarmed, after the near fiasco with General Barkak in the dungeon, but he also didn’t want Cassim to feel unsafe. Or, maybe he _did_. He knew he wanted Cassim close. He didn’t want Cassim to roam.

Alibaba was tired of thinking it over, but he didn’t return the knife.

Fortunately, Cassim had no interest in it. He asked Alibaba to teach him a Sindrian strategy game instead. Cassim’s request was an odd one for him these days, but Alibaba agreed. He missed their childhood idleness. How long had it been since they had last played together? Surely not since Alibaba’s mother was still alive.

The Sindrian game was one of the first things Alibaba learned from General Barkak, who considered it vital for any military leader to know. As the third prince, Alibaba might have a future on the battlefield, and so Alibaba learned.

Cassim learned it quicker. His mind was always a few steps ahead, and Alibaba even heard him murmur, “What does it mean?” over a particularly complex move. Alibaba liked this about Cassim, how he could become consumed with a new obsession and master it through sheer determination. But he was also a little jealous because Cassim was beginning to win more rounds than he lost to Alibaba.

“Did you know, Cassim,” said Alibaba, “that this game was created for Sindria’s Eight? When Sinbad founded his country and made his comrades generals, he wanted to make sure they would become good tacticians.”

Cassim glanced up at him before returning to the board with a hum. He moved his counselor. “Check.”

“Oh, come on!”

Alibaba realized he was pouting when Cassim reached out and pinched his cheek. Cassim grinned, and Alibaba made a show of annoyance, hoping he didn’t look too pleased. God, but he treasured the moments in which Cassim instigated affection. And Cassim knew. Cassim would want something now. He’d ask for it while Alibaba’s heart was still aflutter.

“So, you’re saying Sinbad came up with the game. That’s the guy from those stories you like, right?” Cassim said, resetting the board. It would be their third game since they woke. “That must mean Sinbad is Harun’s famous student.”

“What?”

“When I played this game with your father, he told me his former student created it,” said Cassim and held out a hand for his pieces.

Alibaba hesitated, and the elephant fumbled between their fingers before landing noisily in a row of pawns. Cassim frowned, and Alibaba strained a smile in return. “He played a game with you?”

Alibaba hadn’t been able to pry much detail of that night from Cassim, other than that Cassim had met Alibaba’s father. Alibaba had wanted to know more. He wanted to know so badly, too, because _Cassim met his_ _father_. Cassim had spoken to the king and come out of the conversation excited— _inspired_. Alibaba hadn’t felt that way about his own father since their first few meetings. More often these days, Alibaba would leave King Rashid’s bedside with his heart overwhelmed. Ashamed. Rashid had so many expectations, but Alibaba wasn’t meant to meet them. And he lacked the courage to try.

But since when was Alibaba ever brave? Not by himself, no, but with Cassim at his side, with Cassim as his reason, Alibaba could be brave.

And then, Cassim had met Rashid. They played a game together. Rashid had never played a game with Alibaba. And Rashid had never asked Alibaba to call him by that old name of Harun. _Harun_. It was his name before he was king, the one he told Anise to call him. Mom and Cassim had both called him Harun, yet he would always be King Rashid to Alibaba. Such a fragile little thread connected them: their bloodline. Barely _father_ , but never _Harun_.

“Alibaba?”

But Alibaba was walking briskly out the door. He left Cassim, who sat on their bed, with the board set for another game.

-

When King Rashid opened his eyes, Alibaba rose to his feet with so many words on the tip of his tongue that they vanished from his lips.

He stuttered. He stopped. Flustered, he felt like a fool as he clasped his hands behind his back and waited for his father to acknowledge him instead.

 _Pathetic,_ he could hear Ahbmad’s voice. Then, in Cassim’s, _how pathetic._

“Alibaba,” Rashid whispered, and Alibaba looked up. “Did you give any more thought to the crown?”

The question caught Alibaba by surprise, and a hot shame flushed his face and neck. Caught in some half-baked fantasy, Alibaba had stormed into the room to accuse his lord father of misplaced favoritism—for a boy who wasn’t even his son—but the reality was that Alibaba would come to reject Rashid’s magnanimous gift of the throne. Yet again.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered, an ingrate.

No, not just an ingrate—not even one who lacked bravery. Alibaba was a _coward_ , simple as that. It was always like this in front of his father. Faced with the vast experience of King Rashid, Alibaba would question his own worth. ( _How_ _pathetic_.) Half the time, he wanted nothing more than confirmation that he belonged. Other times, Alibaba hoped Rashid would expel him from the royal family and set him free. But Rashid always affirmed him, always offered him his favor, and Alibaba, ungrateful son that he was, took advantage of that.

_(“Father, please, I must help my friend Cassim.”)_

Cassim believed Alibaba to be blessed with such good fortune that the king had come in person to whisk him away into the palace and princehood. He wouldn’t hear a word otherwise, no matter what Alibaba said. Deep down, Alibaba was grateful for Cassim’s lovely fairy tale because he, himself, knew the truth: he had come to the palace and learned his sorry place in the world.

The last prince was the most useless prince, pampered for his title but undeserving of it because he was only a backup for his older brothers. Truth be told, he didn’t have the pride to imagine himself as anything but an unwanted spare, but Cassim had enough pride for the both of them. Ambition, as well. Alibaba loved that about him.

“Did you like Cassim?” Alibaba asked, quietly. “He said you met.”

“So, that was boy you asked all those favors for. I did not expect him to be Yambalan,” Rashid replied with a smile that could have been a grimace. Or the other way around. “Nor your _concubine.”_

“Oh. You know.” Alibaba’s heart fell, and it kept falling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the entire story when I asked for your help. I did what I thought would save him from Ahbmad’s judgment, but it escalated.”

And Alibaba was ashamed of what he had done to Cassim.

“You’ve read too many stories,” said Rashid, “about countries and kings who are crueler than us. And so, you’ve given Ahbmad an opportunity to rectify that.” His voice was weak but stern, with the exhaustion of a tired father who wished his son had known better. “Without even realizing it, you’ve set in motion something our royal family has sought to bury for generations. I could make an edict to end the institution of concubinage, but I believe Ahbmad will overturn it once he is king.”

“I can stop him,” Alibaba protested.

“Yes. You must,” Rashid agreed, “because I cannot stay to fix this for you.”

_Don’t go. I’m sorry._

Alibaba closed his eyes. They stung with tears. He wished harder than anything that he could fling himself onto his father’s lap and cry. But Rashid wasn’t Anise, and Rashid’s words of encouragement were not so soft and gentle. They demanded action along with reflection—soon—because King Rashid had not long for this world, and Anise had been left alone in the afterlife for too long.

“It’s not only about the laws, Alibaba,” said Rashid. “It’s the _people_. When you make laws, you cannot expect good faith from those of us in power.”

Alibaba frowned. He had learned the opposite. “I don’t understand,” he said. “My tutor in economics said that laws were created in ways to prevent the common folk from taking advantage of them. There are so many more of them than us…”

“I should not have let Ahbmad accept the Kou scholars under our roof. They are filling his mind with lies,” said Rashid, “And he has let them weaken Balbadd to line the pockets of his supporters in our household. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust _him.”_

Alibaba had never heard his father speak unkindly of Ahbmad. Rashid knew the gravity of his words. It was poison for a king to doubt his first heir. Doubt had destroyed dynasties in the past. Doubt divided the aristocracy between princes. It had thrown their armies against one another’s, nearly tearing Balbadd apart in the past. Alibaba didn’t want that in this lifetime. He didn’t want to lead soldiers.

He stepped forward, toward his father’s bed, and said what he could to mend the cracks, “Prince Ahbmad is stubborn, but I’m sure we could figure out a middle ground.”

“Hmm.” Rashid was silent for almost a minute. Then, he said, “No, child. They’ve gone too far, and there is no longer a middle ground where things are fair. The country is more important. You must support Balbadd before your brothers. Fight them all the way if they are in the wrong.”

Alibaba stared. “F-fight them…?”

“Balbadd is a country of merchants, traders, and sailors who take pride in their work. I have always believed the poor who would take advantage of bread laws are few and far in between,” said Rashid firmly, and his voice crackled with more intensity than his throat could handle. “But we in the palace could destroy the country, if we let our greed run unchecked.”

Alibaba shivered. His father was setting the mantle of responsibility on him yet again, and he was still afraid to take it. “How…” Alibaba felt torn from all directions, with nowhere to go. “How do I know that I won’t destroy the country with my _own_ greed?”

Rashid stared at the ceiling. “Don’t you care about the people with whom you grew up?”

Alibaba thought about Cassim and Mariam and their life together through the good and bad and everything in between, and his heart swelled. “Yes. I love them.”

“Do not forget that feeling when you think of your subjects. All of them.” Rashid closed his eyes, and the corners of his mouth quirked up. “It’s a pity that I’m at the end, when it seems as if I had finally found my inspiration in Balbadd again.”

Alibaba smiled weakly and said, “Cassim has a way of making you feel like that.”

-

For the first time, Alibaba left the king’s chambers with a heaviness in his heart that wasn’t fear.

It was a satisfying feeling, like watching a small flame grow and knowing it would cook a delicious meal for many. It was like looking at a new book with excitement for the stories inside, not dread for the lessons they bore. It this what ambition felt like? Was Cassim’s heart always so full, so ready to burst with his need to move forward? Was this why Cassim always wanted so much?

Alibaba had only ever wanted things in short bursts. He wanted to win the games he played with Cassim. He wanted the next installment of Sinbad’s tales. The few things he desired for, achingly to his bone, for a long, long time, were things that depended on the whims of others: belonging, acceptance, love.

Alibaba thought about Cassim, whose whims were the most inconsiderate of all, and he thought about how he just wanted Cassim to be happy. If Cassim were happy, he’d stay with Alibaba. If Alibaba could give him all he needed to be happy, then he’d stay forever. Surely.

And having Cassim around meant that someone else was taking care of the difficult decisions, like what to make of Ahbmad and the throne. It was something Cassim excelled at; Alibaba hasn’t met anyone more qualified. It was also something Cassim _wanted_ to do.

He talked about it a lot, mostly when he thought Alibaba was asleep. Cassim would turn to Alibaba and practice telling him how he was born under a lucky star to have been the son of a king, how there were so many things he could do, not only for himself but for _them_ and their friends back in the slums. Cassim would whisper all his beautiful ambitions to Alibaba, and caress his face so gently that Alibaba barely felt it. Some nights, if his voice sounded exceptionally fond, he’d kiss Alibaba’s hair, and Alibaba would stir, pretending to have been dreaming the whole time. Cassim would tell him, “It’s nothing, go back to sleep,” and he’d sigh when Alibaba hugged him tighter. He’d always kiss Alibaba again, one more time on the forehead. And he wouldn’t ask for anything in return.

Alibaba adored him. He’d give Cassim the world, if he could—if it meant Cassim would never leave his side because then, there’d be nowhere left for him to go.

But Alibaba could settle on the next best thing. Silently, he made his way to his backup escape tunnel, and he went into the city to find Mariam.

-

It was pure luck that he found Cassim the first time, late at night. In the day, the city was much different, especially by the harbor. The sea smelled stronger, and more people were on the streets. The sound of carts and animals and the shouts from the merchants punctuated the air. There were children squealing in their games and their parents calling after them. Nostalgia flooded him like a tide. It was all Alibaba could do to suck in a shaky breath and not be overwhelmed.

The seagulls near the ocean were pushy and loud. How he had missed them. They rarely made it to the palace, and when they did, they perched quietly, admiring the view. These shouted at him from the sky, and Alibaba watched them instead of the road in front of him. He promptly crashed into someone.

It was a sailor around Cassim’s age. He was large, sandy-haired, and had a youthful face. The man glanced up and down at Alibaba, and Alibaba realized he was far too well-dressed to be wandering the docks by himself. He should have changed from his prince’s wardrobe into the clothes Cassim had on when he entered the palace. Alibaba cursed his own carelessness. Cassim would have never…

“Aren’t you Cassim’s friend?” said the man, in awe. “Yeah, you’re Cassim’s friend, um... Alibaba!”

Alibaba didn’t know what to say. “I am,” he confirmed before he thought better of it. Again with the carelessness. He wished Cassim were here to do the talking.

“So, he was telling the truth. You really did go the palace. I thought it was a coverup, like for the rest of his family.” The man laughed, shaking his head. He extended his right hand. “I’m Duban. I’m a friend of Cassim’s.”

Alibaba shook it, tentatively. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m looking for Mariam.”

Duban frowned. “She died last year.”

-

There was a disease that wiped out the slums Alibaba knew as a child. The king ordered their ward sealed off and left Cassim and Mariam to weather it on their own. Alibaba felt like throwing up.

Duban explained it factually, as he had seen the symptoms early on and sailed off with his crew to escape it. When he returned, Mariam had died, and something in Cassim died with her. In those months, Cassim had changed. He had always been selfish in his own way, but survival turned him bloodthirsty. _Feral_. When Duban returned to Balbadd, he lost a tooth to Cassim in a fight, and nearly his life when Cassim drew his blade. Cassim had never fought so viciously against an ally before, no matter how angry he was.

Alibaba felt cold. The wrath he had witnessed in Cassim—when his hands were tied, when he pointed the knife at Barkak—was a mere fraction of what was inside: the smallest fragment of despair that escaped Cassim’s self-control. Alibaba realized he had only _glimpsed_ into something full of darkness.

And he couldn’t handle it. He drank a pitcher of wine, grimacing at the acrid taste, and waited for his heart to stop aching. But it didn’t, and it wouldn’t. Alibaba knew it wouldn’t when he set his cup down and stared into it. Once again, he thought of Cassim. Alibaba’s thoughts always went to him, as inevitably as the phases of the moon.

Cassim had truly changed. The boy Alibaba grew up with, shared a tent and life and mother and sister with; he was gone. Alibaba had met a stranger in the city on the night he went exploring. He felt a shiver at the thought.

Cassim had smiled at Alibaba from across the table, and he had decided on his course of action then and there. He’d hit the palace for everything it was worth. He just happened to string Alibaba along because it was convenient, but he’d paid the price for his gamble, thanks to Alibaba’s foolishness.

And Alibaba was such a fool.

No wonder Cassim’s eyes changed whenever Mariam came up in their conversations. No wonder his voice cracked and his jaw tightened. Alibaba had always thought it was in worry. He thought Mariam had taken after Cassim in all his troublemaking, but no—it was _grief_. And Alibaba had been rubbing Cassim’s face in it without knowing.

He swallowed and then pushed his cup forward. “I think that’s gonna be it for me,” he slurred, and buried his face in his palms. He went too far. This was bad. It wasn’t like when he and Cassim drank. He had felt warm and fuzzy then. All he could remember from that night was Cassim’s face. Unlike Alibaba, Cassim’s baby fat had worn away, and he had more angles. He was more handsome. And he had looked at Alibaba with such open tenderness then. Now, Alibaba had to pretend to be unconscious to experience that.

But the Cassim from that night wasn’t even real, was he? He was a costume to get into the palace, where he’d rob the treasury. The Cassim that Alibaba would go home to was… _What was he? Who was he?_

Alibaba couldn’t string his thoughts together anymore. He felt a pair of large hands steady him. “You gonna be all right?” asked Duban. “Damn, you’re a real lightweight, aren’t you? I would’ve stopped you, if I’d—”

“It really is him.”

“Alibaba!”

Alibaba turned and saw Hassan and Zainab at the entrance of the tavern. They stared at him in bewilderment, and he back at them. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Grapevine,” Zainab said roughly, with truly the barest of efforts to explain herself. Alibaba thought it was fair. He was far too drunk to appreciate anything cleverer and did nothing when she strode over and grabbed him right above the elbow. “Let’s go.”

“Okay,” agreed Alibaba as the ground dodged his feet, and he stumbled.

“Hold on, I’m coming with,” said Duban, tossing coins on the counter.

“You’re not invited,” said Hassan, sternly, standing in his way. Duban scowled back. They were the same size and evenly matched in intimidation. “Alibaba is our friend, and we’re taking him with us.”

“Alibaba is _Cassim’s_ friend, which means he’s as much _my_ friend as he is _yours_ ,” Duban argued, following them out the door. “So, unless Cassim comes around to tell me to get lost, I don’t see why I can’t hang out with him like you guys are.”

Alibaba had a great idea: “Let’s all hang out and talk about Cassim. I’ll go first. He’s full of lies.”

The three of them looked at Alibaba and then at each other.

“We can talk at my place,” said Zainab tersely.

-

And so, they went to Zainab’s place. It was a little room above a bakery and smelled of bread. It made Alibaba hungry, and he told everyone this several times before Hassan bought him a flatbread. Then, everyone stared at him as he ate.

“Where is Cassim?” asked Duban, and before Alibaba could respond, Zainab elbowed him.

“Don’t tell him,” she said to Alibaba. “Just tell us how Cassim is doing.”

“He’s—” Alibaba blinked carefully at his half-eaten bread. “He’s good.”

“So, Ahbmad didn’t actually…” Hassan breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s not a slave…”

“Isn’t _Ahbmad_ the first prince’s name?” Duban connected the dots. “Cassim is in the _palace?”_

Zainab slapped Hassan on the back of his head. This conversation was going nowhere, and Alibaba wasn't sure what to make of it.

“He’s in the palace now. I see him often,” confirmed Alibaba, as vaguely as possible, and hoped it would satisfy everyone. He didn’t know why Zainab didn’t trust Duban, but Cassim trusted her and Hassan, so Alibaba would defer to them today. Also, Alibaba didn’t know if Cassim was really friends with Duban, despite what he said. He just realized that now.

Duban smiled, and it seemed genuine. “Good for him. Wow, just… _Good_ for him. We used to joke about it—all of us. You’re all guilty.” He motioned to Hassan and Zainab. “But to think he really did make it out of here, _wow_. If it was _anyone_ , it’d be him.”

Zainab shifted in her seat and said, in that sharp, decisive way, “How is it that you were the _first_ to chicken out on Cassim’s palace raid, and yet _now_ you’re talking about him like you’re in his inner circle?”

“He wanted me to bring all my men,” Duban replied with a frown. “I couldn’t spare a single one from their ship duties.”

“What duties?” Hassan said scornfully. “Liberating cargo from Kou galleys? You know _we_ need those supplies on land!”

“Pirates like you are only bottom feeders,” Zainab hissed, dragging out a knife from her belt. “If you think you can sabotage the Fog Troupe’s operations and take our turf while Cassim is away, I will cut your throat myself.”

“Don’t flatter yourselves. I don’t need the land prey, and Cassim stays off the ships. He and I have a long-standing agreement, and it works great for both of us,” Duban snarled back.

There was a lull in the conversation as the three older teens took inventory of each other’s vital spots. Alibaba shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth because he knew he would say something he’d regret if he didn’t.

Finally, Duban conceded, “I mean, _all_ of us. You are my allies, and I’m yours.”

Zainab reluctantly sheathed her dagger. Alibaba watched wordlessly as his sluggish brain attempted to follow the conversation. He flinched when Duban turned his hard gaze on him and felt unease when the man’s face melted into a gentle smile. “Anyway, _Alibaba_. What’s Cassim up to?”

“Probably…” Alibaba swallowed and tried to come up with a non-answer. “Probably doing whatever it is you think he’s doing.”

Duban raised his eyebrows with a hum. He chuckled. “Then, I hope that aristocrat makes him happy.”

Zainab clicked her tongue in distaste. “Cassim isn’t doing _that.”_

Alibaba felt the back of his neck prickle. “What are you talking about?”

“I always figured a nobleman or something would pick him off the streets as, y’know, a kept man.” He grinned sheepishly as Zainab and Hassan glared daggers at him. “What? You saw how they were always looking at him. And he was always looking back. Probably casing his next mark, but you never know with Cassim.”

“What are you talking about?” Alibaba repeated, more urgently.

Duban turned to Alibaba. “I mean, he’s not like me, all big and threatening and stuff. The noblewomen liked that he was small and wiry. The men thought he was pretty enough, but… C’mon, it’s _Cassim_. He’s pretty until he talks.” He laughed. “But he was also _really_ good at what he did, so I’m figuring at least _someone_ liked the whole package.”

Alibaba’s mind was a scramble. “Um. What? He was good at _what?”_

Zainab punched the floor and flung herself at Duban. “Cassim would _never_ debase himself as some shitty nobleman’s pet!” Duban managed to push her off and give Hassan a _do something about your woman_ look. Hassan gazed back impassively and shrugged, _she does what she wants._

And Alibaba stared in chagrin as Duban’s words finally sunk in. The sorrow in his heart hardened into something Alibaba couldn’t name, but it hurt like hell. He forgot about Mariam. He forgot about his father, about Ahbmad, the country—he forgot himself. His mind couldn’t stop focusing on _Cassim._

Duban noticed his silence. “Oh. _Right_. Yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about this, huh? This was way after you left, and you were like a brother to him, so I suppose…” He blushed and squinted at Alibaba through Zainab’s fingers. “Wait, sorry. Do you even _know_ what sex is?” 

“Of _course_ , I do!” It was Alibaba’s turn to flush. “But you— _you’re_ talking as if he was just… _sleeping around_ …”

“Well, yeah, sometimes.” Duban shrugged. “He and I didn’t always trust each other, but that’s how _we_ got along.”

-

Alibaba remembered the first night Cassim kissed him. He thought his heart would float straight from his chest and off to the moon. He promised himself he’d cherish that moment for the rest of his life because it meant Cassim _cared_. It meant Cassim still cared for Alibaba, more than Alibaba had dared to hope since those first yearnings lit in his heart. Cassim kissed Alibaba.

But what did a kiss mean to Cassim, who fucked to get what he wanted?

 _No, no, no._ Alibaba was being a hypocrite. Cassim did what he had to do before he came to the palace. Never once did Alibaba judge his own mother for how she provided for the three of them.

But also, _no_ —because with Cassim, it was _different_. Alibaba loved Cassim, _pined_ for him for what felt like his entire life, and Cassim had fucked _everyone_ before he fucked Alibaba.

_No!_

It didn’t matter now. Now, Cassim was Alibaba’s, and Alibaba his. Alibaba was the shitty nobleman who thought Cassim was pretty enough, even with all his harsh words. Alibaba wanted _all_ of Cassim.  _That’s_ what mattered.

All the doors slammed open at Alibaba’s touch, but when he reached his bedchambers, Cassim was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a while to finish this chapter because I guess I was still afraid to commit to yandere!Alibaba. But here he is, and here we go. I'm excited that we've reached the point in the fic where Alibaba and Cassim's thought processes have synergized in the worst possible way.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are deeply appreciated! You can follow me on twitter [**@goodnightwrite.**](https://twitter.com/goodnightwrite)


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